To Ethel

So you think you will be a Scotch lassie; The braw Hieland lad in a kilt Has taken your fancy, dear, has he? And you, too, would be clad in a "tilt."

Well, not one will gainsay you nor blame you, For your wishes are ever fulfilt; And how proudly your father will claim you, When arrayed in a tartan and "tilt"!

And your mother will certainly further The hopes that her Ethel has built; You have only to ask to ensure their Fulfilment concerning the "tilt."

And I—(Oh! I know I don't count, dear, And for speaking acknowledge my guilt, For my wishes to nothing amount, dear,) I would rather you hadn't a "tilt."

For although thou wilt take us by storm, dear, Looking sweet, as thou certainly wilt, Yet, you know, it is very bad form, dear, And not English to wish for a "tilt."

And I thought, (but of course was mistaken, For my hopes lie around me all spilt), That my Ethel would never awaken To sigh for a Hielander's "tilt."

None the less will I try to be glad then, Nor let courtesy play me the jilt; Though I know that my heart will be sad when Little Ethel is wearing her "tilt".